#(which seems. Uh. Kind of fucked!)
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desire to make my dawntrail release alt a monk main vs. knowledge that queueing as dps sucks actual absolute ass and i am not strong enough to put up with that
#the nemesis speaks#swift plays ff14#i mean it's pretty easy to get a new full class set out of things i haven't played yet#monk then the two arcanist jobs for mdps/healer#and then idk. gnb and mch#the problem is that's a fucking nonsense set of classes like who is that character. that's nobody.#also you can't play gnb until like lvl60 or whatever so like. what am i gonna do through arr huh#f hrothgar with a GUN and a BOOK and uh PUNCHING#...idk now that i think abt it. she could be mch and gnb with the same weapon. that could be fun#which paints her as sort of a technical fighter in a way shana Very Much Isn't#shana's got her stick and she knows 200 ways to kill you with her stick but that's the only thing she's good at#but [unnamed alt] has arcanist magic which is much more technical inworld than whm/blm it seems like.#and then mch/gnb are obviously both Gun. so like. is she a mechanic of some kind.#idk i'm coming around to it now#this is just me talking to myself again. anyway
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Details: Clemcy
Every time I ponder Clemcy and physical contact I get some uh. Strange vibes off of him.
If he is the one initiating and in control, or if it’s adversarial and he knows it’s adversarial, or if it’s practical (eg. shaking hands or getting help), or if it’s from his other bodies or Oranask or one of his thralls… that all seems to be normal?
But he is anywhere from mildly uncertain to incredibly twitchy about it otherwise, and I’m just... *squints*
#writing flails#Clemcy#queue#(details: Clemcy)#(It’s super tangled)#(I mean!)#(there's the obvious bit where he often Dislikes or is In Charge Of most of the people he interacts with slfdkgh)#(but beyond that...)#(there’s def. something about perception and control and like.)#(if he has not Tried to make someone want to touch him then they are doing so for their own reasons)#(and he does not like that he did not choose and is not in control of said reasons)#(And there’s something abt. Just. A bit of disconnect. Or. Bafflement? Or something. Just. ‘Do they realize what they’re doing’ vibes)#(also something about safety/paranoia I think? I mean the few times I've written him interacting with himself [dif bodies])#(he gets this incredibly weird relieved vibe? As if. Finally there is a Physical Presence whose intentions he doesn't have to think about)#(which seems. Uh. Kind of fucked!)#(Clemcy in a fight he has chosen: having a fucking blast. Clemcy questioning the implications of innocuous interactions: ???)#(anyway don’t quote me on any of this I’m just poking at vague instincts in my head and going ‘wtf are you’ 😂)#(though if any of this somehow puts actual cohesive ideas into any of your heads please feel free to share sldkgh)#details
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well dennis losing the titty poll made me watch all the way up to mac and dennis move to the suburbs, i didn't mean to binge that much at once but honestly kinda hate most of 11 anyway so i had to keep going,,,
#i. see the serial killer shit starting up with a vengeance now#its kinda.... yknow. like before it was kinda funny and could be chalked uo to him being a freak but now its so unsubtle#but. yeah anyway im not TOO far away from being caught up now#was waiting for my family to watch it w me but ive given up i wanna participate in the fandom goddamn it#ada speaks#should prob have put this on my sideblog but whatever#and i have now. officially seen the whole uh. plot from dee makes a smut film. i knew the basics but seeing it kind of killed me.#not sure how i feel abt it#the tone of the entire episode was extremely weird#like they couldnt fully commit to taking it seriously but that half was still serious abt it (which i appreciate. but idk)#dennis' characterization seems all over the place in the latter half of 10 and the first few eps of 11#and the family fight ep was fine but gave me HORRIBLE secondhand embarrassment i had to watch through my hands gddnsbfn#still think the gang misses the boat is like. peak.#the first half of s10 was so fucking good i think i kind of just watched a bad batch of eps in a row tonight but eh#finale ep was pretty good#ok listen. its the skiing ep. is it just me or is it like. the worst fucking episode#like i half expected it to be some sort of fantasy scenario one of the gang was dreaming up
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motw tomorrow. i want to bring back the posting era.
#pulling directly from my dms w hannah bc i’ve been on this for a while#but one of the hardest things and things that make me most anxious about playing cedar is trying to make sure she doesn’t come across as#a joke or as totally off-the-walls with her reactions to people/situations. or like inconsistency w what she says or does in a way#that doesn’t come across as a deliberate character choice. and i definitely don’t want her to feel stagnant#like. she’s been pretty bratty and unwelcoming to jessamine and even a little bit sam! who was one of her best friends#and has certainly also lashed out even within her new group of friends/allies (parch and the creature in very dif ways esp 😭)#so when hannah was like ‘should jessamine be worse?’ worried that making someone cedar’s so pissed with seem like. kind of fine. is shitty#but the thing is i think cedar is uh#she has a lot of rage and unpacked trauma from the shit w the red riders that she doesn’t know what to do with#which has totally fucked w her ability to analyze the situation and relationships she had and has formed so she#doesn’t know how to feel and therefore act towards them?#which. maybe ooc is an annoying character choice for me to make but.#she sure can’t form a clear internal stance on Any of the people she used to love and trust more than anyone!#and like. everyone else doesn’t really care if isaiah dies and she doesn’t KNOW how she feels about him but#she’s stuck wavering between being viciously angry at isaiah & still being so upset that she can't even talk about what's happening to him#so. this next session or two is certainly going to push to SOME sort of breaking point!#and then of course there’s all our agonies. but that’s for a separate post.#motwinchester#cedar
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Something about virgin Choso fucks me up in the head oh my god.
He acts tough. Every time he’s around you, talking to Yuuji, his brothers, he puts on a show as though nothing in the world matters, he’s always calm, layed back. Talking to him, you always got so nervous when he stared you down every time without a care in the world it seems, to you it looked like talking to anyone for him was easy as a breeze of wind, you kind of wished you were like that, like Choso. That also was half of why you were attracted to the man. The other half, well, self explanatory: he was great with his brothers, he was attractive in his own damn way which made your knees weak every time you saw him.
You hadn’t expected him to be a virgin, and a whiney one at that. When you had walked past the bathroom to the kitchen, you heard him in
the bathroom, he was masturbating.. Were you eavesdropping? Yes, but you couldn’t hold yourself from listening in to his beautiful cries of pleasure, whimpering, pleading for some reason, those pretty moans and whines turned you on more than you imagined. Well, the worst part came when you had not realized he was done already, you only realized when he opened the door and stood there, shocked, embarrassement flood over you and you just ran back to the guest bedroom.
If it only wasn’t for you getting carried away, this wouldn’t be happening right now, you and Choso sitting on the sofa, akwardly waiting for Yuuji to come back from the kitchen so the atmosphere turns nice again. You can feel Choso sneaking glances at you, fidgeting with the black silver rings on his fingers. Not wanting to have this continue for any longer, you decided you’d speak up.
“Listen, I’m sorry for yesterday, I just.. uh..”
You couldnt find a explanation for yourself.
“N-No, It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have.. Uhm, I shouldn’t have done it in the bathroom.”
“But I was eavesdropping on you, I need to apologize for that. I just couldn’t help but get carried away from… Shock!”
And as Choso was about to answer, Yuuji suddenly came into the room, having only heard muffles of your conversation.
“Yo, what’re you guys talking about?”
With a panic, you blurt whatever comes to mind.
“ Oh! I was just telling Choso that I’ll be helping him later.”
“Helping him with what?”
“Just washing the dishes, just to repay him for yesterday, I hit him after he scared me in the dark at night!
Yuuji seems content with that answer, and sits between you two. You couldn’t help but notice how Choso looked at you after you said you’ll help him later, eyes a little wide, a deep red spreading on his cheeks. He didn’t know whether to take it seriously or not, well, you were just making an excuse, but still, a gesture like that would blow his mind completely.
After the movie marathon, you both HAD to go wash the dishes, to play some truth into your silly excuse you gave to Yuuji, it was akward, very akward washing dishes with him. But you got to see Choso, the real him, how he was all fidgety, getting clumsy and blushing as hard as a cherry.
“Was it true..? What you said earlier?”
“What are you talking about, Choso?”
“H-How you said you’d help me later..”
“I am helping you thoug- Oh, you mean that?”
You said as the realization hit you, he was hard, and it was all because of your choice of words.
“I-I’m sorry, I am just gonna go, real sorry for thi-“
“N-No, Choso! I- I can help you, if you want me to?”
The sigh Choso gave out was huge.
“Please…”
That was all you needed to hear, proceeding to drag him up to his room at the back of the hall, the location of his room, being secluded and far away from any other room made you so grateful.
You sat him on the edge of his bed, leaning down to massage his thighs.
“How do you want me to help you, Choso?”
Hearing his name come out of your pretty lips always made him want to hold back smashing his face into yours, but now, he was just confused, he didn’t know what would be the most ‘appropriate’ thing to ask. All he wanted now, was to ruin you, to make you his, kiss you, feel and touch you everywhere he had ever dreamed of.
“I.. I don’t know, just- just touch me, do whatever, please..”
When you heard that, you immediately knew that he was a virgin, to your shock infact. Not wanting to torture this poor man any longer, you stopped massaging his thighs for a moment and told him to slide his sweatpants down, all the while looking at the wet spot of precum left on them.
You looked at his length for a second, before actually bringing your hand up to it, to rub and feel it to all of its size, he was huge, possibly the biggest you’ve ever had in a partner. It blew your mind and you wondered how it would feel inside you, how it would fill all of your insides, but, right now it was all about Choso’s pleasure which needed to be fixed.
The pool of precum doubled in size as you continued rubbing it, deciding to finally free it from his boxers, Choso moaned when it sprang up and hit his stomach. That made you look up at him, needing to hear more of his sounds, he looked back at you with a pleading look on his face which just said “please, touch me already”
You grabbed his length with your hand and started stroking it, slowly at first, picking up speed with some time. The moans, whines and whimpers this man put out were sent straight to your core.
“Please, Please, please, go faster, please, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, please!”
That motivated you to pick up speed, also to tighten your grip on his length to up the pleasure for him. His moans were getting out of control until you looked up at him with a strict look, telling him to be quiet. With that sense of dominance, he came all over, all over your hand, his stomach and thighs. His chest heaving, some small moans still coming out as he came down from his high.
You brought your hand up to your mouth, licking your hand and tasting Him before you began to walk out of his room, off to finish yourself off.
“W-Wait, can’t I make you feel good now?”
“I did this as an apology, Choso. Some other time, maybe.”
And with a wink and a smirk to him, you walked off to your room with an almost unbarable heat between your legs, it also had to be fixed.
NOT PROOFREAD ITS FUCKING 5 AM I WANNA GO SLEEP, ILL DO IT SOME OTHER TIME
#smut#jujutsu kaisen#choso fanfic#choso fluff#choso smut#choso x f!reader#choso x fem!reader#choso x female reader#choso x reader#choso x you#chosoxreader#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso my beloved#choso#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso x y/n
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・﹒・ hypersexual nights
Summary: How various Hazbin and Helluva Boss characters react to a hypersexual reader!
Warnings: 18+, sexual scenarios, Vouyer!Vox, does hypersexual not tell you enough lol just read it
Parings: [Seperate] Saint Peter, Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Vox, Mammon, and Striker x hypersexual!reader
Notes: HOLY SHIT THIS WAS GONNA BE FOR 300 FOLLOWERS NOW ITS 400 FOLLOWERS! As a celebration, have this! I'm an hypersexual aroace myself so hypersexuals rise up! 💪
﹒Adam﹒
・He would notice how you always were down to fuck, almost every day in fact, how could he not? You've been the only one to truly keep up with him as most other people always had "low" sex drives and wouldn't be in the mood when he was. So you were like a blessing just for him when day after day, you would always be up for sex at any given moment. When you told him you were Hypersexual one day after a good fuck, he just laughed in your face.
・"Hypersexual? You're always horny? Bitch PLEASE I already knew that. You ask for sex like- every day and never shut up about it. That's why I like you so much. You want to be fucked just as much as I want to fuck"
﹒Saint Peter﹒
・He is a pretty innocent soul, he swears occasionally but when it comes to sex? Oh boy. And you? Being hypersexual? You always flirt with him in a suggestive manner, wanting him to just admit that he likes you. He can't help but simultaneously love the attention as the thoughts you always put in his head, but feel so embarrassed and dirty about it. He always seems to short circuit whenever you flirt with him, but he never says no, so you keep doing it. He of course noticed it after the first few times, you being on par with Adam in sexuality, how could he not? But when you admitted that you were hypersexual and he finally understood.
・"Oh? That's why you uh- why you're always flirt with me! Haha...and say those...really uhm...dirty things... Not that I mind of course! I actually uh...kind of like it..."
﹒Lucifer﹒
・He had his suspicions very early on, it was so obvious to notice how you and Angel Dust got along so well with the topic of sex. He also noticed how you always made sex jokes and talked about sex even without the porn star around. And when it came to him? You always seemed to get flustered whenever he flirted with you, always ensuring to make it dirty, and it worked everytime. After you got together, you almost pounced on him, wanting to have sex early on. He didn't mind it, but in fact, wanted it. You then apologized and said you were hypersexual, meaning you couldn't not think about sex constantly. He just laughed and pinned you down on the bed.
・"Oh I know very well, very well. And I will enjoy fulfilling every. Single. Desire. You could ever ask for"
﹒Mammon﹒
・He isn't exactly the smartest tool in the shed, but he knew you were just as greedy as him. Not in the money sense, no, no. But in sex. You haven't yet gotten to that point in your relationship yet, but he could tell you were denying taking the step. Was it because he was a Sin? He didn't know. All he knew is that if you didn't fuck him already, he was going to fuck you first. So he confronted you and you said you were scared of him just using you for sex due to your constant sexual nature. He reassured you that he truly did love you, but couldn't deny that someone just as greedy as him was very nice to have around.
・"Oi! Don't be scared mate! I won't use ya just for sex and toss ya away! I love ya too much for that. But ya know- I'd be down to fuck every single night if that's what you want"
﹒Vox﹒
・He is an interesting case. He isn't the best guy around and loves to spy on you. So, when you act all innocent and sweet around him, yet fuck yourself silly with a stupid toy screaming for him so incredibly often it becomes a pattern? Yeah, you're hiding your sexual nature. Which is odd, but probably so Valentino didn't swoop in to take advantage of you. Instead of talking to you, he let your feelings build and build and let your toy eventually not be enough for you. You finally burst into his office and told him you knew he was watching you while you masturbated. He was taken aback at first, but then laughed as he realized you loved that he watched you.
・"You need the real thing, huh? Was waiting for you to finally say it you dirty little whore"
﹒Valentino﹒
・He noticed immediately as you would constantly flirt with him in a suggestive way and he would flirt back just as hard if not harder. It was so easy to notice, he played into it very hard and took advantage of your very sexual nature. It was easy to get you hooked quickly and you never had to say a thing. He fucked you in every way he could imagine and you loved every second of it. It was a mutual understanding between you two- the thought of telling him that you're hypersexual was laughable in every sense of the idea.
・"Oh baby~ you wanna be fucked into the mattress again? It hasn't even been three hours amore~ you're still horny? I'll make sure you can't walk anymore after~"
﹒Striker﹒
He isn't apposed to sex, he just hates it when people makes jokes about it when he's just trying to do his job. In fact, he loves sex, have you seen the huge statue where his dick is very endowed? That man is full of himself and knows he can fuck good. You started out as a target for him and at first your sexual flirting threw him off his game. But after many failed attempts of cat and mouse, you finally managed to get him to admit that he liked it from your non stop remarks.
・"Ok fine- yer hot and I wanna fuck. Don't look at me like that! Not my fuckin' fault yer always telling me you wanna suck my cock"
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#vox x reader#valentino x reader#mammon x reader#lucifer x reader#adam x reader#saint peter x reader#striker x reader
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do you believe me now? | 3
in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded
part one | part two | part four
18+ (smut)
warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long
a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!
You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time.
It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned.
You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire.
“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”
He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground.
“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati.
Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing.
“Uh… four hours ago.”
“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”
He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face.
“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”
You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy.
“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”
His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep.
“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”
Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes.
“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”
Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment.
“But we made such good plans,” he laments.
You kiss his cheek.
“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”
It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win.
“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”
You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.
“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”
The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”
“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”
“You seem exhausted.”
“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.
Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.
“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy.
Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them.
“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”
Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”
“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”
Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all.
“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”
“Um…”
Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets.
“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table.
His eyebrows raise.
“I’m sure, honey.”
“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly.
“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”
It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that.
“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly.
“Nothing. I just missed you.”
“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”
The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”
A slow smile spreads over your face.
“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”
You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably.
“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”
“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”
“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”
“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”
You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor.
“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”
Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly.
“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”
It’s a ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips.
“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”
“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him.
“Yeah? Like what?”
And just like that, you’re shy again.
“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”
“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”
And how could you ever deny him anything?
As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands.
“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”
Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against.
Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment.
“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”
“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”
A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention.
“You okay?”
You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think.
“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”
It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have.
“Do you want to?”
Woah.
Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.
You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.
“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”
Show you how?
Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea.
“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try.
“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”
You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do.
“Got it.”
He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch.
“Scoot back a little, angel.”
Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—
Your breath catches.
Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him.
So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is.
The size sinks in a quick second later.
You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?
No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving.
“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response.
Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”
Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening.
“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch.
“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.
“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”
It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath.
“Okay. What do I do?”
“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”
You look up, alarmed.
“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”
“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously.
Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre.
“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation.
“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”
Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh.
“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong.
“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”
“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head.
“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”
Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away.
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”
You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”
“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”
Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him.
“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it.
“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out.
For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours.
“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”
“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?
“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”
You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs.
“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”
“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident.
“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”
“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”
“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you.
“Because I like to listen.”
“What if I do, too?”
In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped.
“Jesus, fuck.”
You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is.
Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought.
You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah, baby?”
He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?”
His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers.
“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”
“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”
Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.
“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”
Wide eyes dart up to his.
“Really?”
Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek.
“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”
“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”
“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind.
Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower.
“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears.
“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate.
“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”
Spencer can’t help but laugh again.
“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”
You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away.
“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”
“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”
Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile.
“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”
“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers.
You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.
From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”
You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible.
“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him.
Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence.
You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”
You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets.
“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips.
“It’s okay, Spence, I—”
“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”
“Do you care what I think at all?”
Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing.
“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”
It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt.
“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer.
“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”
He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance.
“That was really good, baby. You did well.”
You blossom.
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie.”
“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?”
I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls.
Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.
Fuck.
He really wants to tell you right now.
“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest.
It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.
“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”
“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”
You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated.
“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”
Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him.
“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”
“Oh.”
Spencer thinks he sees where this is going.
“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”
“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”
Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face.
“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”
Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now.
“What got you all excited?”
“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw.
“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”
You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.
“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”
“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”
Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again.
“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him.
“Stand up.”
You frown.
“But—”
“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy.
You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him.
“Why?”
“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing.
As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—
But no.
There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—
“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”
“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh.
“Sit.”
“You want me to…”
“Yes,” he says, simply.
“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”
“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”
Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again.
“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and his grip tightens ever so slightly.
“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”
Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening.
“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there.
“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?
“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him.
“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”
You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit.
“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”
You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all.
“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath.
“Yeah? Does it?”
“Mhm.”
“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”
It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty.
“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh.
“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”
You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it.
“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”
You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words.
“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”
“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.
“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”
But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.
You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.
“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”
In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.
And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine
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So, uh, Netflix Avatar, huh? Yeah. I guess I'll make a really long post about it because ATLA brainrot has is a cornerstone of my personality at this point.
So.
It's okay. B, maybe a C+.
That's it.
Now for the spoilers:
The biggest issue with the Netflix version is the pacing. Scenes come out of nowhere and many of the episodes are disjointed. Example: Aang escaping from Zuko's ship. We see him getting the key and going "aha!", and in the next scene he's in Zuko's room. And then he just runs out, no fun acrobatics or fights, and immediately they go to the Southern Air Temple where he sees Gyatso's corpse, goes into the Avatar state, and then sees Gyatso being really cheesy, comes out of it, and resolves that conflict. Nothing seems to lead into anything. The characters don't get to breathe.
The show's worst mistake (aside from Iroh fucking murdering Zhao) is its' first one: they start in the past. Instead of immediately introducing us to our main characters and dropping us into a world where we have a perfect dynamic where Aang doesn't know the current state of the world and Katara and Sokka don't know about the past, thus allowing for seamless and organic worldbuilding and exposition, they just... tell us. "Hey, this is what happened, ok, time for Aang!" There's no mystery, no intrigue, just a stream of information being shoved down the audience's throats and then onto the next set piece.
The visuals are for the most part great, but like with most Netflix productions, they just don't have great art direction. It feels like a video game cinematic, where everything is meant to be Maximum Cool - and none of the environments get to breathe. It's like they have tight indoor sets (with some great set design) and then they have a bunch of trailer shots. It's oozing with a kind of very superficial love.
Netflix still doesn't know how to do lighting, and with how disjointed the scenes are, the locations end up feeling like a parade of sets rather than actual cities or forests or temples. As for the costumes, Netflix still doesn't know how to do costumes that look like they're meant to be actually worn, so many of the characters seem weirdly uncomfortable, like they're afraid of creasing their pristine costumes.
The acting is decent to good, for the most part. I can't tell if the weaker moments come down to the actors or the direction and editing, but if I had to guess, I'd say the latter. Iroh and Katara are the weakest, Sokka is the most consistent, Zuko hits the mark most of the time, and Aang is okay. I liked Suki (though... she was weirdly horny? Like?) but Yue just fell kind of flat.
The tight fight choreography of the original is replaced with a bunch of spinny moves and Marvel fighting, though there are some moments of good choreography, like the Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko (there's a million things I could say about how bad it was thematically, but this post is overly long already.) There's an actually hilarious moment in the first episode when Zuko is shooting down Aang, and he does jazz hands to charge up his attack.
Then there's the characters. Everybody feels very static - Zuko especially gets to have very little agency. A great example of that is the scene in which Iroh tells Lieutenant Jee the story of Zuko's scar.
In the original, it's a very intimate affair, and he doesn't lead the crew into any conclusions. Here, Iroh straight up tells the crew "you are the 41st, he saved your lives" and then the crew shows Zuko some love. A nice moment, but it feels unearned, when contrasted with the perfection of The Storm. In The Storm, Zuko's words and actions directly contradict each other, and Iroh's story gives the crew (and the audience) context as to why, which makes Zuko a compelling character. We get to piece it out along with them. Here - Iroh just flat out says it. He just says it, multiple times, to hammer in the point that hey, Zuko is Good Actually.
And then there's Iroh. You remember the kindly but powerful man who you can see gently nudging Zuko to his own conclusions? No, he's a pretty insecure dude who just tells Zuko that his daddy doesn't love him a lot and then he kills Zhao. Yeah. Iroh just plain kills Zhao dead. Why?
Iroh's characterization also makes Zuko come off as dumb - not just clueless and deluded, no, actually stupid. He constantly gets told that Iroh loves him and his dad doesn't, and he doesn't have any good answers for that, so he just... keeps on keeping on, I guess? This version of Zuko isn't conflicted and willfully ignorant like the OG, he's just... kind of stupid. He's not very compelling.
In the original, Zuko is well aware of Azula's status as the golden child. It motivates him - he twists it around to mean that he, through constant struggle, can become even stronger than her, than anyone. Here, Zhao tells him that "no, ur dad likes her better tee hee" and it's presented as some kind of a revelation. And then Iroh kills Zhao. I'm sorry I keep bringing that up, but it's just such an unforgiveable thematic fuckup that I have to. In the original, Zhao falls victim to his hubris, and Zuko gets to demonstrate his underlying compassion and nobility when he offers his hand to Zhao. Then we get some ambiguity in Zhao: does he refuse Zuko's hand because of his pride, or is it his final honorable action to not drag Zuko down with him? A mix of both? It's a great ending to his character. Here, he tries to backstab Zuko and then Iroh, who just sort of stood off to the side for five minutes, goes "oh well, it's murderin' time :)"
They mess with the worldbuilding in ways that didn't really need to be messed with. The Ice Moon "brings the spirit world and the mortal world closer together"? Give me a break. That's something you made up, as opposed to the millenia of cultural relevance that the Solstice has. That's bad, guys. You replaced something real with something you just hastily made up. There's a lot of that. We DID NOT need any backstory for Koh, for one. And Katara and Sokka certainly didn't need to be captured by Koh. I could go on and on, but again, this post is already way too long.
It's, um, very disappointing. A lot of telling and not very much showing, and I feel like all of the characters just... sort of end up in the same place they started out in. I feel like we don't see any of the characters grow: they're just told over and over again how they need to grow and what they need to do.
To sum it up: Netflix Avatar is a mile wide, but an inch deep.
#avatar the last airbender#atla#atla spoilers#avatar netflix#netflix avatar#atla live action#netflix atla#zuko#iroh#katara#aang#sokka#zhao#ozai#review
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3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader
SPOILERS FOR ATSV
read part 2 here!
3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.
Word count: 2.7k
Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.
Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)
A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out
1.
Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.
"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.
Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.
"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.
After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.
It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.
After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"
Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.
You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.
2.
Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.
Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.
While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.
"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."
Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"
Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.
You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.
You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.
3.
If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.
"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.
"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.
"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.
You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.
The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.
You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.
Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.
+1
Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.
Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.
As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.
Oh, great. It's the Prowler.
This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.
As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.
I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.
"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.
You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.
The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.
"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.
He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.
His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."
Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.
"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.
His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.
Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.
“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.
"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.
"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.
When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.
Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.
"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.
Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.
He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.
Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.
---------
part 2!
#miles morales x reader#miles morales#miles morales x y/n#miles morales x you#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42#across the spiderverse#across the spider verse spoilers#into the spider verse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman#prowler miles#miles morales spider man#spider man#spiderman into the spiderverse#jealousy#enemies to lovers#friends to lovers
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Steve ends up heartbroken, lonely and depressed after season 2. Nancy called him bullshit, even after he ditched all his old friends for her. Billy Hargrove took his spot at the top of the food chain. He can have it, Steve doesn't really want it anymore. But Steve does want to find some sort of connection. Someone to have in his life who isn't an 11 year old kid he barely knows. He tries to go on a date one night, take a nice-seeming girl to a party. He wants to find connection, to kill the loneliness that's been building for months, but just as he's feeling kind of good about things, his date ditches him.
So. He decides to drink his feelings. He gets majorly fucked up, and ends up laying on the ground in the backyard, contemplating how much life seems to hate him.
Only to literally get tripped over by Eddie Munson, who was at this party selling pot and is very confused as to why Steve Harrington is alone on the ground with a bottle of vodka clenched in one hand.
Eddie ends up chatting a little with Steve, nothing substantial, but enough to know that Steve is very very drunk, and also very very sad.
He asks if Steve wants to go back to the party, and Steve staunchly refuses. He doesn't want to be around a bunch of annoyingly happy people.
He asks if Steve needs a ride home, and Steve just kind of shrugs. His parents just left for another trip, so home is kind of depressing right now too. But he doesn't exactly have any other friends he can stay with so. Home it'll have to be.
Only Eddie can *tell* he doesn't really want to go home, though he has no idea why Steve wouldn't want to return to his veritable mansion after a shitty night. The reason doesn't matter much. He offers to let Steve crash at his place. Steve can take the couch, or hell he can stay in Eddie's room if he doesn't mind sharing, that way he wouldn't risk being woken up when Wayne comes home that morning.
And well, Steve agrees. Can't think of any reason not too. Munson has been nice so far, he's got a good easy-going energy that Steve likes. Why not stay the night.
By the time they get to Eddie's, Steve is *slightly* more sober. Not much, but he's slurring his words a little less, and he can walk with only a little help.
Eddie grabs them each a little plate of leftovers, because he has no idea if Steve's eaten at all. It's quiet while they eat, Eddie doesn't push Steve to talk, and Steve isn't sure what to say. Eventually Eddie sets the plates aside and give Steve an easy grin.
"So, do you want the couch, or are you crashing with me?"
Steve thinks about it for a while. He hasn't shared a bed with a guy-friend since he was a kid, and he's heard rumors about Eddie, whispers in the hall about the way he looks at other guys. But...Steve can't really bring himself to care. He's tired, and he really doesn't want to be alone.
"I don't mind sharing."
Eddie sets them both up in his room, letting Steve choose which side of the bed he wants, and they both settle in. There's a respectable distance between the two of them, and Eddie says a quick goodnight to Steve, figures they won't talk and just go right to bed.
Except Steve isn't sober, and he really isn't in a good headspace, so he can't stop himself from blurting things out into the quiet of the dark room.
"Are you really gay?"
Eddie stiffens next to him, he can feel it, he can hear the way that the other boys breath cuts off and he seems to stop breathing all-together.
"It's okay if you are, I'm not going to be an asshole about it, I'm trying not to be that guy anymore. I guess I was just curious."
It's quiet for another beat before Eddie seems to loosen just a little. He starts breathing again at least.
"Yeah I uh- I am. Gay. And if that's weird the couch is still open, I can-"
"It's not weird."
"Okay."
Steve let's himself mull over this confirmation, and then his mouth starts moving again, without his permission.
"Is it lonely? Cause I mean, it's got to be hard to date in Hawkins. People here are shitty. Unless you've got like, a secret boyfriend or something."
"No...no secret boyfriend. It does get a little lonely sometimes. I'm lucky though, I've got my uncle, and my friends are pretty great. That's enough most days."
"What do you do when it's not enough?"
"Hmmm?"
"When your uncle and friends aren't enough, what do you do? To try and...make it better?"
Eddie is quiet again for a long stretch before he shrugs.
"I try to focus on something else. I'll play my guitar or work on a new campaign, read a book. Something to take my mind off it."
"Oh."
Now Steve is the one who seems tense, his jaw is tight and he's got his arms wrapped around himself. His next words come out as a whisper, but Eddie manages to catch them.
"I don't know how to do any of that."
He sounds almost choked, and Eddie is caught off guard. He's never seen Steve Harrington as anything other than solid, as happy. He's the king, after all. He's supposed to be all smiles and great hair. Only...Eddie's noticed that he hasn't hung out with his old friends lately, that he's eaten alone at lunch too many times to be anything other than strange.
"Steve...are you lonely?"
Eddie expects a denial, for Steve to laugh it off and tell Eddie that he's perfectly fine and fulfilled. Or maybe he expects a shrug, a non-answer. What he doesn't expect is the gut-wrenching sob that seems to tear past the other boys lips.
He doesn't expect to turn and see Steve Harrington's face, a scant foot from his, shining with tears.
He panics a little at the sight.
"Fuck- I'm so sorry-"
"Don't be." Steve tries to wipe his eyes, to hide the tremble in his voice. "Not your fault there's something wrong with me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like I'm broken man, like nobody can stand to be around me. Tommy and Carol hate me now, Nancy- hell even my own parents hate being at home with me for more than a week. It's like I'm repellent or something. Couldn't even get a date to stick around for a whole night."
And Eddie's pretty sure *he* might start crying now. He'd never have expected this much from Steve, all that sadness to come pouring out. It wouldn't have happened if Steve was completely sober. Without thinking, he reaches out.
Eddie puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and waits to see if the touch gets rejected, but Steve seems to lean into him, so he lets his hand linger.
"This probably won't help, but I don't think you're repellent. And that's coming from somebody who your whole group used to torture. I don't know much about you, but I kind of liked having you around tonight."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Steve gives him a tiny smile. His eyes are still wet with tears, and the smile doesn't come close to reaching them. He seems impossibly small here in Eddie's bed.
"I don't know man. I just wish-"
He cuts himself off, apparently deciding his words are too far, but Eddie urges him to keep talking.
"What do you wish Steve?"
"I just wish that... there was somebody out there I could have a future with. Somebody who actually loved me, you know?"
It might be the saddest thing Eddie's ever heard, and he blames that fact for what he does next.
He takes his hand off Steve's shoulders and instead hauls Steve closer to him, fitting the other boy against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It's a move that might get him decked, but he doesn't think it will. And he'll be damned if he doesn't hug Steve right that second.
He doesn't get hit. Steve tenses for a second, but it's just that one instant before he's melting into the embrace.
Eddie feels more tears falling against his shirt, and he couldn't care less. He keeps Steve close, let's him cry into his chest, runs a hand through that famous mop of hair.
He isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to calm down, but eventually he does. His breathing evens out, and he shivers a little before speaking.
"Thanks man."
And Eddie takes another leap of faith.
"I could be that person, you know."
"What?"
"I mean. You know Im... not straight. It may not be exactly what you're wanting but. I think I could picture a future with you. If you want to, just for tonight...I could be that someone who loves you."
Steve looks at Eddie, like he's a puzzle that he needs to solve, before a other shiver seems to wrack his body.
"Just for tonight?"
It comes out as a whisper, but Eddie hears it all the same.
"Yeah. For tonight Steve."
"I think...I think I'd like that."
Eddie gives him the sweetest smile he can muster, and nods.
"Alright sweetheart."
Eddie isn't exactly sure what it means, to love Steve for the night. After all, Steve is straight. He figures it doesn't matter much though, it's only for a night.
He keeps a hold on Steve, let's him get comfortable tucked against Eddie, and he does what feels natural. He runs a hand up and down Steve's spine, traces shapes into the soft fabric of his shirt. He tangles their legs together, and in a moment of insane bravery he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head.
He's met with a sigh, full of relief, and figures he's on the right track.
"Just close your eyes Stevie, I've got you."
"Can you tell me about it?"
"Hmmm?"
"The future. You said you could see one. Can you tell me?"
And he asks so carefully, he sounds almost afraid, Eddie can't say no to that.
"Do you want the fantasy future, or the realistic future?"
"The real one."
"Alright then. Well, if I'm not going to be a rich and famous rockstar...I'll probably graduate and get a job somewhere in town. A real job, maybe working on cars or something. I'm good with cars. You'd come over all the time, have dinners with me and with Wayne. You'd have to meet Wayne. And we'd have more nights like this, sleeping close."
Steve let's out a pleased sounding hum, and shifts his face so it's buried even closer in Eddie's neck. He can feel Steve's breath on him.
"We could save up money and get a little place together, somewhere outside Hawkins. I have to stay kind of close, for my uncle, but maybe Indy?"
Steve nods, mutters something about staying close 'just in case'. He sounds like he might fall asleep, so Eddie keeps going.
"We could get an apartment, nothing too fancy. We would get two rooms, so nobody gets suspicious, but we would share a bed most nights. I'd play with my band on weekends, just for fun, and you'd join some little local sports team. I'd make sure to schedule DND nights so that I never miss a single game, even though I don't understand a damn thing about sports. We would come home for holidays, but most of the time it would just be us. I'd take good care of you, make sure you never go more than a few hours without me telling you I love you. I'll show up wherever you're working just to give you a hug and a kiss, and make sure you don't forget it. And I'll annoy the hell out of, but you won't mind too much, because I'll make you happy too."
Eddie can think of more. He can think about so many things. How he could give Steve one of his rings, even if they couldn't legally get married, even if Steve would never want that. Just as another reminder that he's loved. They could take trips together and go out to parties where Steve will never have to worry about getting ditched. Eddie doesn't do things halfway, and he has a hell of an imagination. He could picture them growing old together, if he tried, if he let himself. But this is just for tonight, so he doesn't. Instead he runs a hand through Steve's hair again, and listens to his quiet breathing. He thinks he may have fallen asleep, but he's wrong.
"That sounds nice."
It comes out muffled, spoken into Eddie's neck, but he manages to make it out, and he let's the vibration of it sink into his skin.
*It's only for tonight.*
He has to remind himself, because Steve is just feeling lonely. He doesn't want that future with Eddie, he just wants to feel loved.
But even if it's just pretend, just to help Steve for a few hours, he's okay with that.
Steve may think he's broken, but Eddie thinks he would be easy to love for a long time. Loving him for one night is nothing. He doesn't even have to try.
Tomorrow Steve will wake up sober, and he'll thank Eddie for letting him stay over, and they won't talk about it. Eddie will drive Steve back to his car in silence, and they'll say their goodbyes. They may not talk ever again, they never had before.
But for tonight? Eddie Munson will love Steve Harrington, and Steve? He'll let himself be loved, let himself beleive it. And he'll love Eddie right back.
Just for one night.
And if Steve ever needs it again? Eddie will love him for another night. And Steve will give that love right back. He's got plenty to spare, after all. And there's far worse people he could share it with.
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington whump#steve is sad#eddie helps#pre-season 4#this takes place between seasons 2 and 3#I wrote this in a fit of insanity while I was supposed to be working#hope yall like it
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ao3
It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.
But then Steve continues, his voice turning distant as he heads to the back of the store—“I don’t care what the goddamn handbook says, the radiator’s goin’ on full blast,”—and Eddie realises he hasn’t actually been noticed at all.
Not by Steve, at least.
Robin Buckley is standing by the computer. She’s checking her watch; Eddie can see the thought cross her mind, that he should’ve been out of class over an hour ago, like she was.
All of a sudden, he feels uncomfortably aware of what he must look like: drenched from the rain, dripping water onto the carpet.
“Hey, Munson. O’Donnell got you working overtime, huh?”
Eddie fakes a laugh. He doesn’t know Robin that much—but still just well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it.
So he nods and rolls his eyes, concocts a story about an unjust detention; he even embellishes it with a pinch of truth as he brings the video tapes out from the shelter of his jacket. Says that his last-ditch attempt at improving his grade before the holidays was offering to return the videos O’Donnell rented for her classes.
He doesn’t mention the fact that he stayed behind voluntarily. That he spent all that time staring down at a perpetually unfinished essay, gripping his pen with an all too familiar desperation. That kind of honesty somehow feels more embarrassing than lying; it always has.
Robin takes the videos from him. “Okay, tell me if that works,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm; she’s joking, Eddie reminds himself, but not in a mean way. “Because I’d be returning, like, so many library books if…”
She trails off with a frown, eyes on the computer screen. Glances to the stack of video tapes before punching in something.
Eddie doesn’t mind the wait; it’s only now that he’s really appreciating just how cold he is. He shakes some water off his jacket sleeve, fingers numb, and realises too late that he’s creating a puddle on the floor.
“Uh, sorry for, um. Dripping,” he says awkwardly, but Robin doesn’t seem to hear him; she just keeps frantically tapping on the keyboard.
Outside, the wind picks up even more, throwing rain against the windows.
There’s the creak of a door swinging open somewhere in the back, followed by a voice calling, “What’s up?”
Eddie startles—he almost forgot that it wasn’t just him and Robin in here. He watches Steve sidle up to the register.
“It’s this stupid—“ Robin gestures to the computer with frustration. “It keeps going all, you know, aaaah.” She draws out the sound, wiggling her fingers.
Surprisingly, Steve catches Eddie’s eye with a wry look. “Technical term,” he says, deadpan.
If Eddie didn’t know that he was the only other person in the room, he’d think that surely he’d been mistaken for someone else.
Not that he thinks Steve would ignore him outright; it’s just that they’ve not got much history—no fleeting camaraderie forged from sitting next to one another in class. Sure, they crossed paths as much as anyone did in Hawkins, Steve a recurring figure in Eddie’s peripheral; he knew of his existence, obviously, it’s Steve Harrington, but nothing more than…
A collage of all the times Steve’s picture has appeared in the school newspaper flickers through Eddie’s mind. Okay, but that was because of The Tigers, and the swimming team, and—anyone would’ve noticed that—
His justification is brought to a halt at a particularly fierce howl of wind; Robin flinches so badly that she knocks the video tapes onto the floor.
“Just the wind,” Steve says quietly.
As he speaks, he gently nudges Robin out of the way with his hip. Picks up the fallen tapes.
And to anyone else, it might seem kind—and nothing more.
But there’s something almost imperceptible in the way Steve does it, Eddie can’t get away from that fact: a meaning behind the words that he can’t grasp.
Then he hears Wayne’s voice in his head—son, you know fine well when something’s none of your damn business—and tells his curiosity to quit it.
“Sorry, it’s still not working,” Robin says, giving the computer one last thump. “I can, um, write you a receipt? To prove you returned them? So O’Donnell doesn’t get all…”
Eddie nods. “Sure.”
Robin gets a pen out of her shirt pocket and writes a receipt, triple-checking the movie titles as she does so.
Eddie thanks her as she hands over the paper. Catches himself hesitating.
There it is: the familiar prickle of discomfort, not knowing what else to say. Jesus Christ, isn’t that a failure on its own? Another year at school, and you’d think he’d be somewhat closer to other students, just from the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the same four walls. And yet, he’s starting to feel more distant than ever.
Granted, there’s Hellfire, but on bad days even that chafes, not that he’d ever admit it. Like he’s playing a part far bigger than who he actually is.
Eddie expects to just walk out without another word being said. In fact, he’s bracing himself for the cold again, almost at the door, when Steve inexplicably speaks up.
“Are you actually leaving?”
Eddie turns around. Steve’s leaning by the desk with his arms folded, looking at him expectantly.
Eddie’s half-convinced there’s a joke he’s not getting.
“Uh, yeah?” he says. He tries to ensure that ‘what the fuck else am I supposed to do?’ goes unheard, but from the way Steve’s eyebrows rise, he doesn’t think he succeeds.
Steve gives a pointed, dubious look outside. “Dude, you wanna drown out there?”
Eddie rocks back on his heels. There’d be a time where he would really snap back at that (the first time he flunked out, maybe), but now he’s more caught off-guard.
So he just glances outside and says, “Ideally, no.”
Steve gives a slight huff of laughter at that, shaking his head.
“Look, I’m just saying, man, I’m not gonna be driving till it clears up. Thought I was gonna need a canoe just to get into the parking lot.” He turns to Robin as if looking for agreement, stacking the tapes Eddie returned as he adds, “I said that when I drove you in, right?”
“I dunno, I’ve had crazier journeys,” Robin says.
Steve rolls his eyes like she’s made a corny joke—but he’s grinning like he just can’t help himself.
Eddie watches with a flicker of amusement rather than irritation, which catches him unawares. If he was honest, he’d felt drained not even a few seconds ago. But seeing Steve and Robin’s back-and-forth sparks an unexpected urge to respond in kind.
“Since when were you the spokesperson for road safety, Harrington?”
Robin snorts.
Steve shrugs. “At least wait until it’s not so brutal out there.”
And what brings Eddie up short is that, despite the dry tone, Steve sounds sincere. It leaves him struggling for an acceptable reply.
Before he can work one out, Steve steps to the side and pushes a swivel chair with his foot, right into Eddie’s path.
Eddie sits down in silent bewilderment.
He braces instinctively for an unbearable awkwardness, but it’s not so bad: Steve and Robin just continue working. It gives him time to try and dry his jacket off, at least, and when that ends up a lost cause, he turns to noticing the background noise in the store.
There’s a TV overhead playing It’s a Wonderful Life; George Bailey and Mary Hatch are about to Charleston right into the swimming pool.
Steve wanders into his eye line, scanning the aisles with a clipboard. Eddie doesn’t actually know how long he’s been there. He’d kinda got caught up in watching the movie. Steve seems to notice that; it’s gone too quick for Eddie to be sure, but his lips might’ve quirked, as if in approval.
“Hey, d’you want me to take your jacket? I’ve got mine and Robin’s on the radiator in the back.”
Eddie does his best not to stare. It’s a habit he’s still not shaken off: waiting for the other shoe to drop when anyone apart from Wayne is so… so…
“Didn’t realise this place was a hotel, Harrington.”
Despite his misgivings, he shrugs off the still damp jacket; Steve’s already stuck his hand out for it.
“Not everyone gets this treatment, Munson. You just haven’t annoyed me yet.”
“Then what am I doing wrong?” Eddie returns flatly.
This time Steve’s smile is obvious.
“Don’t move my scarf off the radiator!” Robin calls as she wheels a trolley of tapes.
“What do you take me for?” Steve says.
He disappears into the back again, returning empty-handed when the phone rings. He mutters at it before he picks it up, “Yeah, of course you still work,” and it’s not endearing, Eddie tells himself. It’s not.
And no, he isn’t listening in to the phone call. That’d be… that’d be stupid. It’s just that the movie isn’t all that loud, so he can’t help but…
“Hello, Family Video? Oh, hi, Mrs Wilcox, how are… Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” Steve listens to whatever’s being said on the other end. His eyes find the TV, and then he’s silently mouthing along to George and Mary singing, ‘Buffalo Gals.’ “Oh, are you kidding? No, no, stay inside. It’s not a problem, I can just—yeah, of course. I’ll push it back to after the holidays. Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling. Enjoy the movie!”
He hangs up, absentmindedly humming. Eddie quickly looks away.
He notices then that he’s sitting right on the edge of his seat like an idiot. He makes an attempt to sit back—be normal, just be fucking normal—but there’s a rigidity he can’t quite shift, that’s been stuck there probably since middle school, when the cafeteria was full of whispers, did you see the new kid? There, the one with the buzz cut.
“Steve, you off the phone?”
“Yeah. Hey, Rob, if I forget, could you make a note to extend Donna Wilcox’s rental? I’ll do it when we’re back, if the computer’s—”
“Sure, sure. Um, so—”
“Oh, God, what?”
Robin grins, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Eddie stays put. Has she forgotten he’s here? Should he move? Leave? Yeah, he should leave, they’re not gonna notice… He’ll grab his jacket, slip away; the weather’s not that bad—
“I’ve got something for you to—”
Steve waves his hands in disagreement. “Nope, we said we weren’t doing presents!”
“It’s not really a—my grandma wouldn’t listen, Steve, it’s, like, more of a punishment, honestly, just—just wait there.”
There’s a clatter as Robin rushes off, scattering some more tapes off the trolley. The employee door slams shut behind her.
Steve tsks to himself, but picks up the tapes again. As he bends down, he glances over his shoulder with a brief ‘what can you do?’ sort of expression—which forces Eddie to consider the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten.
He doesn’t know how to feel about it.
He settles for an attempt at nonchalance: sticks a foot out to spin the chair ever so slightly, just side to side, and says, “So, uh, is this job just throwing tapes on the floor?”
“Yeah, we take turns,” Steve says without missing a beat.
He scoops up a tape, twirls it deftly before slotting it into place on the shelf. Eddie should probably find it annoying.
He doesn’t.
In the silence, he tries to lose himself in the movie again, at least a little bit, but he can’t manage it—feels too aware of himself, the creak of the seat as he moves even the tiniest amount, the restless fidgeting that he doesn’t even want to be doing, but knowing that never helps him stop—
“Ta-da!”
Eddie turns in time to see a blur of red; Robin’s just thrown something at Steve, who catches it easily—of course he does, Eddie thinks, but he can’t pretend that the thought comes from a place of resentment, not even inside his own head.
It’s a sweater. Steve unfolds it with a cackling laugh; there’s not a trace of the artificial veneer of high school in the sound.
Unlike you, whispers a nasty inner voice.
Steve’s still laughing. “Robin, this is the best—”
“Shut up, no, it’s so bad.” Robin hoists herself up to sit on the desk. “Grandma did the actual work, all the bits that are messed up are from me—”
“You knitted this?”
Steve beams. Eddie notices that there’s an endearingly crooked tilt to one of his incisors.
And then Steve’s glancing around like he’s checking no-one else has come into the store. He ducks out of view of the windows, but is still very much in Eddie’s view as he throws off his work vest, yanks his shirt up over his head, and…
Eddie suddenly feels like he’s been flung back into the claustrophobic space of the school locker rooms, the dread of changing for phys ed. The voice in his head gets louder: don’t look, don’t look; they’ll know.
But Steve doesn’t seem to care. He just leaves his shirt in a heap on the floor, wincing overexaggeratedly at the cold, and practically dives into the sweater with a boyish glee.
He laughs again; the sleeves are far too long. “I love it.”
“You do?” Robin says, and while she’s playing up her dubiousness, Eddie can hear how she’s pleased underneath it all.
“Uh, yeah!”
The back of Steve’s hair is ruffled from how eagerly he put the sweater on—but instead of fixing it, he focuses on artfully rolling up his sleeves.
Eddie should look away. Should, at the very least, attempt to appear like he’s zoned out, in a world of his own.
And yet…
Despite everything, he watches Steve Harrington with all the silent, rapt attention he usually reserves for movies.
Moth to a fucking flame, Eddie thinks, resigned.
“Suits me, huh?” Steve says to Robin; he does a stupid little move, one hand on his hip, like he’s on the front cover of a magazine.
“And you’re modest, too.”
“You just don’t know style when you see it.”
Steve’s at the desk now, nudging one of Robin’s feet playfully, before turning round to lean against the corner again. “Hey, Munson, what do you think?”
Eddie finds himself fighting the instinct to reply with something undeservedly cutting. He’d just be trying to cover, anyway, using barbs to conceal what the question makes him feel: something akin to the franticness when confronted in class with a test he hasn’t studied for.
And he looks. Really looks—his heart slowing, the initial panic from the flash of bare skin fading away.
Steve’s right; the sweater does suit him, in all its homemade charm. The shade of red is flattering, brings out his eyes: maroon, if Eddie had to put a name to it, although he suspects that the colour’s actually got nothing to do with it, more the way Steve holds himself—a quiet, certain confidence that’s always been out of Eddie’s reach.
He inwardly gives himself a shake as Steve and Robin keep waiting on his response.
This isn’t school, idiot; they’re not trying to catch you out.
“I’m hardly an expert on high fashion, Harrington,” Eddie says—thinks he just manages to pull off the lazy, unbothered drawl.
“Well, you have a look,” Steve says faux delicately, like he’s being incredibly generous.
Eddie cracks a genuine smile; it sort of weakens the whole aloof thing he’d settled on, but he surprisingly doesn’t care all that much.
“Damned with faint praise.”
Steve scoffs as if to say touché. His gaze catches on something outside, and Eddie wonders if it’s an actual customer, if it’s time for whatever all of this is to stop.
But all Steve does is poke Robin’s foot and add, pointedly singsong, “Rain’s stopped.”
“So?” Robin asks.
“I think it’s in between storms,” Steve says sagely. “Like, we’ve got a little window before more rain hits.”
“Great, Steve, I’ll love waving that opportunity bye.”
Steve tuts. “Rob, I’m saying we should ditch. Come on, it’s been dead all day. We can be home early and warm, it’s, like, single-handedly the best plan I’ve ever had.”
Better than when you won the championship game? Eddie thinks—wisely keeps that strictly to himself, because he’ll admit following Hawkins High’s basketball results on pain of death.
Robin looks torn. “I don’t know, Steve, what if—”
“Who’s gonna tell?” Steve says, gesturing around at the empty store. He nods at Eddie, says sarcastically, “Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, known snitch.”
“You flatter me,” Eddie says. He surprises himself at how easily it slips out, like for once, there was no need to overthink it.
“See? Rob-in,” Steve wheedles, “come on, I’ll cash out. You and your grandma could knit for hours.”
“Shut up,” Robin says fondly. “Fine! Quick, quick, I’ll flip the sign.”
The whole thing resembles a military operation, with how speedily Steve and Robin manage to close the store. Eddie stands up and moves the swivel chair out of the way, but feels almost exposed without it.
Steve’s just finished at the register when he catches Eddie’s eye. He snaps his fingers, “Oh, shit, yeah,” and yells over his shoulder to Robin in the back room, “Hey, pick up Munson’s jacket, too!” Then he’s stuffing a couple of tapes into a backpack. “Want one?”
Eddie blinks, confused. “What?”
Steve wiggles one of the movies in demonstration before zipping up his bag. “I always take some home. As long as you have it back by, uh,” he waves a hand vaguely, “some time in the New Year, whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Damn it, forgot to turn this off…”
It’s a Wonderful Life falls silent.
Through the whir of it rewinding, Eddie speaks almost without meaning to. “Can I have that one?”
Steve looks up at him in faint surprise. “Sure. Hang on, I’ll just find…”
He ejects the tape and passes it to Eddie. It’s still warm from being played.
And then the case is being handed over, too—there’s scraps of paper folded in the corners, rolls of receipt in Steve and Robin’s handwriting: games of tic-tac-toe and movie recommendations.
As Eddie puts the tape inside, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, uh. Were you gonna take this one home, too?”
Steve’s folding up his discarded shirt and vest. He smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think there was something shy in it.
“Oh, nope. I—” He laughs under his breath. “I have it already.”
The back door bursts open to reveal Robin all wrapped up in a scarf. She throws Eddie his jacket, jangles some keys and imitates Steve’s half-singing when she announces, “I’ll lock up.”
The wind’s thankfully died down so the contrast from inside to the parking lot isn’t terrible—though that’s probably helped by the fact that Eddie’s jacket is warmed right through from the radiator.
As he gets to the van, he expects that Robin and Steve will already be out of the parking lot. But when he slides into the driver’s seat, he sees Robin’s the only one actually inside Steve’s car; Steve’s half-in, half out, one hand on the roof.
“Safe journey, Munson!”
And maybe it’s just how Steve’s voice is anyway, but it sounds like it’s more than just a platitude. Like it means something.
Eddie honks his horn in reply. He lets Steve drive out first—his car’s parked closer to the road—and absentmindedly drums his fingers on the VHS case in the passenger seat.
This was a fluke, he tells himself. Like a movie being played in last period, the curtains drawn—how it always feels kind of like a dream.
Still, he drives home warm. Thinks in a gentler voice, one that sounds like Wayne—a reminder that not everything is a trap waiting to spring shut on him.
#featuring the anxiety of growing up gay in a small town#quiet magic in the last day of school#realising ‘oh i think i finally get who you are.’#eddie munson fic#pre steddie#steddie fic#steve and robin#eddie and robin#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#steddie
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Eddie is used to getting recognized in public, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.
And Gareth knows how much he doesn’t like it, so Eddie’s not really sure why his best friend has completely abandoned him like this. Well, maybe abandon is a little dramatic. He said he’d be right back, but that was half an hour ago, and there’s only so many times he can circle the park and dive into bushes anytime someone gets too close. Which is why Eddie left the park altogether and is now sitting at a bus station. No one would expect notorious Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson to be at a bus station, right?
Except he’s not sure the hat and sunglasses and incongruous location are quite doing their job. A group of kids across the road have stopped and they’re all whispering amongst themselves as they look at him. Eddie really wishes he had something to conceal himself with, but his hand over his face would definitely look way too suspicious. He’s thinking he might just have to cut and run and take his chances back in the park bushes.
That is, until the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life sits in the seat next to him, unfurling a giant map that easily shields both of them. Eddie’s fucking savior.
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to Japantown, would you?” the guy asks.
As it happens, Eddie does know how to get to Japantown. He hasn’t actually ridden the bus in years, but he still remembers the route. “Yeah,” he says, pointing it out on the map. “You just get on line five headed east and ride it like nine or ten stops until you get to McAllister and Fillmore. From there you just have to walk a few blocks to get into the area.”
The guy looks at him with big eyes, brown and a little droopy. “McAllister and Fillmore,” he repeats, like he’s trying to memorize it. He has pretty pink lips, glistening a little like he’s wearing lipgloss.
Fuck, he’s adorable. And looks a bit prone to getting lost. And Eddie’s still kind of mad at Gareth for leaving him high and dry out here. So as the bus pulls up to the stop, Eddie figures what the hell?
“I’m actually headed that way,” Eddie says, standing. “I can show you.”
The guy’s whole face brightens and fuck, he really is gorgeous. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all, big boy.”
The bus is blessedly empty other than one shriveled up lady sitting towards the front with her groceries and a teenager in the middle with giant headphones and their nose in a book. Eddie heads to the back with the guy, who now has a faint blush dusting his nose and cheeks.
“I’m Steve, by the way,” he says as he sits in the seat next to Eddie. “What’s your name?”
So that confirms that Steve doesn’t know who he is. It didn’t seem like he did from how he was reacting, but it’s a bit of relief to know for sure. “Eddie,” he says, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Nice to meet you.”
Steve gives him a smile that’s about as radiant as the sun as he nudges Eddie’s shoulder back. “You too.”
“So what do you have going on in Japantown?” Eddie asks.
“I’m headed to a baby shower for some friends who live near there,” he says, “Well, it’s not a real baby shower.”
“No?”
“‘Cause it’s not a real baby. That is, it’s not a human baby.”
Eddie lifts his eyebrows. “I think you lost me.”
Steve twists in his seat and starts gesturing with his hands. “Well, it all started when they found out that one of their cats wasn’t actually spayed and had gotten knocked up by a stray,” he says, “And Robin was like, ‘Hey, more cats, that’s a good thing,’ and Nancy was like, ‘No, our neighbors already think we’re crazy cat ladies.’”
“Uh huh.”
“So they compromised and decided they would keep one kitten and give the rest away,” Steve says, “So it’s less of a come give us presents for our baby shower and more of a please take our babies away shower. You know?”
“Oh yeah, one of those,” Eddie says, and Steve laughs.
“Hey, are you in the market for a kitten?” he asks. “Cause if you are, I totally know where you can get one.”
It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Honestly?” he says, “I’ve got nothing else going on. Why the hell not?”
Steve gives him another one of those radiant smiles and Eddie can’t help but hope he gets more than a kitten by the end of this.
#robin: what is eddie munson doing in our living room?#steve: you guys already know my new friend eddie?#i honestly don't really know what this is#i woke up from a nap and this was just in my brain#so do with it what you will#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#ficlet
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Dpx Dc AU: Ectoplasm is required for Ghosts to be visible to the human eye- And Danny creates his own ectoplasm.
Danny is visiting Jazz in Gotham and its weird how friendly everyone is. Like, the city gets a really bad rapport, everywhere he goes there is someone trying to strike up a conversation or answer his questions about getting around to the tourist spots. A few people even pointed out restaurants and ways to find off the beaten path gems! Jazz seems to role her eyes at him, but when he brings up her 'roommate' being kind of cute she flat out laughs.
Danny then comes to understand the Jazz doesn't have a roommate and that Ghosts in Gotham don't move far from their haunts- He's just been inadvertently turning these undead folks visible by accident of generating abnormal amounts of ectoplasm.
Which, is comforting in a way, he's never walking this dangerous city alone and really, most of the ghosts have been really friendly! They disappear once he's a few blocks away from them anyway.
---
Tim Drake is having a horrible day.
He'd been given intel that one of Black Mask's guys was going to snitch but that he'd died before given the opportunity to reach out to the GCPD. He tracks down the guy's last know whereabouts and yikes. Its next to the Theater. Tim was often grateful for his childhood obsessions, this time it backfired.
Tim and Bruce get into an argument about trust and respect and, worst of all, mental health. And even though Tim was vehemently against Batman accompanying Red Robin to the alleyway - that's exactly what happens.
They arrive and Bruce is closing up faster than a clam in the contaminated Gotham Bay- Clearly being in the Alley bothers him. No fucking shit. RR gets started on collecting evidence, there are a few extra blood splatters and a single left shoe... When a kid walks into the Alley.
"Uh, sorry to intrude-" The kid looks scared shitless, and runs away. And then, all of a sudden, Batman and Robin aren't alone in the Alley.
Tim can hardly believe his eyes as the dead man appears and quickly blabs Black Mask's bank passwords and what the plan had been- and While he's over joyed to have that closure, he turns around to Batman weeping in the arms of his parents.
The ghosts fade, and the emotions are certainly charged as this was never something Bruce or Tim would have ever dreamed of happening. Ghosts in Gotham. Talking, floating, granting closure.
"RR, Bats, come in." Oracle calls into their ears.
"Reporting in, but, uh, we need a minute."
"A minute? We have a case on 4th and-"
"O, we just saw the ghosts of the Waynes. It's going to be a minute."
"...Lots of Ghost reports lately then. Any chance you saw a kid looking like he could be adopted?"
"Yeah, actually, black hair and blue eyes. He was super polite before he ran away."
"We have work to do. Oracle, lets prioritize finding our person of interest and divert Nightwing and Robin to the case on 4th." Batman cut between them on the comms and he sounded... calmer than either of them anticipated.
---
Jazz is no longer laughing when Batman appears at her door explaining that he's looking for Danny (Who already flew away from town to get a good night's sleep before class on Monday). Turns out Danny reunited the man with his dead parents just briefly- and then the second guy appears and mentions how Danny had also given a guy who'd been murdered by a Mob enough time to explain the ongoing threats the city faced.
Jazz just rolls her eyes and says that it's not like the ghosts are going anywhere anytime soon and Danny will visit in another month. When pressed, she just explains that her brother is a weirdo. No of course he doesn't have powers. Gaslight and Girlbosses her way out.
And Jazz thinks that the game is up for at least another month, obviously when Danny visits more shit will stir up, but then this new guy appears.
Unlike the other Bats who are keen on watching her from a distance, the Red Hood knocks on her door. Are her eyebrows all the way into her hairline when Red Hood asks her to send his thanks along to Danny because somehow this whole situation led to his Dad expressing remorse for his actions and apologizing? Yes, yes they are.
But Jazz can smell Dissertation Data off of these vigilantes- Who is she to send them away? Jazz welcomes Red Hood into her place for a cup of tea and a small chat.
The story then devolves into Jazz getting shit done, Danny being cute by proximity and also bringing ghosts to the party, and the Bats having trauma resolve between them.
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny phantom#dc crossover#dp crossover#long post#danny can make ghosts appear like they do in amity but only for a short while and when in proximity to him#its not apparent in amity because the ghosts are just like that there#Danny just having a good time#Danny having zero brain cells about this whole thing and neither he nor jazz will offer explanations#they're just like 'gotham has ghosts. its not like he put them there'#Bruce getting into therapy because his dead parents said they were proud of him and he didnt know how to handle that#bruce having to turn this energy around somehow and seeing jason - my boy i love you so much and im so sorry and im so proud of you#heres the thing i dont know how i made it anger management ship at the end but i sure as fuck did.#jason is at a lack of words at bruce's confessions of pride and love but is also about to be a BAT about this and track down info#info in the form of a cute girl#oh yeah she has a brother#uh well#he has brothers too- this is fine#someone write this fic pls n thx u
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a wee blurb based off this and a conversation with @scuderiahoney 🤠
.
Oscar Piastri never got drunk, at least not in front of his fellow Formula One colleagues.
It wasn’t obvious at first. He was a rookie, a new kid on the grid, the new guy who kind of started off with a bang before he even sat in the car with all the drama surrounding his contract. It wasn’t out of this world to assume he was a little shy and didn’t feel all that comfortable getting drunk with people who had known each other for years.
But the season progressed and friendships grew, and yet still Oscar Piastri just never seemed to get drunk.
He would have a drink or two, maybe a bottle of beer on top if he had a big meal beforehand. But he never passed the point of tipsy, never passed the point where he wasn’t totally aware of what he was doing.
Lando had cornered Logan Sargeant after one of the races, hell bent on trying to figure out what the deal was with his teammate.
“So what’s Oscar’s deal with drinking?”
The blond turned to him, brows raised in surprise. “What?”
“What’s his deal? Why does he not go beyond three drinks?” Lando questioned, insistent and eager for answers.
“I don’t think that’s in my place to say—” Logan started before he was cut off.
“Is he a recovering alcoholic?”
Logan blinked. “What?”
“I’m not judging!” Lando quickly added, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’d just feel like a right dick if I was pushing him to do something he was recovering from, you know?”
“And you went straight to alcoholism?” Logan shook his head. “Dude, did it ever occur to you that maybe he just doesn’t like drinking?”
Lando narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Have you ever seen him drunk?”
Logan paused, only for a few seconds but it was enough to make the Brit gasp.
“You have!” Lando grinned when he noticed a flush spread across Logan’s face. “Oh god, that must mean it’s embarrassing! What’s the deal, huh? Does he start stripping after four drinks? Get angry? Turn into the Incredible Hulk?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Oscar would appreciate me saying, he gets shy about it.”
The Brit let out a huff. “You’re no fun to gossip with, Sargeant.”
But as it would turn out, Lando and the rest of the grid would find out exactly why Oscar never went beyond his three drink limit in the Aussie’s second season.
The season was young, the car was good and by some fucking miracle, Oscar had found himself on the podium at his home race. It was a thrill he never expected to feel, it was a buzz that he felt himself slowly becoming addicted to. And the fact there was a large group of people he called home cheering him on when he accepted his trophy definitely didn’t help.
He was on a high and he didn’t want to stop—and neither did the drinks. It seemed like every driver he bumped into in the small club seemed eager to buy him a drink to celebrate, and Oscar was so high on adrenaline that he couldn’t bring himself to care about his limit.
It was somewhere after his fifth drink and his third round of shots when Lando found him. He looked lost as he stood in the middle of the dance floor, his lips turned down (almost in a pout) and his wide eyes looking around the place.
Lando frowned, making his way over as he clapped his teammate on the shoulder. “You all good, mate?”
To his surprise, Oscar shrugged his hand off with a frown. “No.”
Lando blinked, something quite like concern bubbling inside him. “No? Did something happen?”
“I—” Oscar paused as he continued to look around the club. “I want her.”
“Huh?”
“I want—” Oscar let out a frustrated noise, almost a bit like a whine. “I want my girl. Where’s my girl?”
Realisation slowly dawned on Lando as he noted the fact you weren’t with your boyfriend. He knew you joined them at the club, the three of you had taken a taxi together but he hadn’t seen you in a few hours.
“Uh, I don’t know, mate,” Lando answered honestly, which didn’t feel the right thing to say as Oscar began to push through the crowd. “Woah, Oscar—”
“I want my girl,” Oscar muttered once again, barely audible over the blasting music.
Lando was quick to follow him through the crowd, aimlessly trying to help and make Oscar stand in one place so they could text you but the boy seemed hell bent on having you in his arms in that second.
It took five minutes—five long, agonising minutes—before they found you. The second Oscar’s eyes landed on you, it was like the pouty boy from before was nowhere to be seen as a huge grin took over his face.
“MY GIRL!”
You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as your boyfriend barrelled towards you, wrapping his arms around you and practically pressing every inch of his body against yours.
Lando watched as you hugged him back, as your grin matched his whilst you pressed a kiss to his cheek. He waited for the two of you to pull apart, to stand shoulder to shoulder because that was usually as touchy as either of you got in public.
But Oscar didn’t let go.
“Baby,” you murmured, your voice soft and amused as Oscar nuzzled his head further into the crook of your neck.
“Uh,” Lando couldn’t even help himself, the alcohol in his system fuelling his confusion and loose lips. “Is he okay?”
You turned to the Brit, a smile on your lips. “Oh yeah, he just gets a bit…clingy when he’s drunk.”
“M’not clingy,” Oscar grumbled but he made no move to pull himself away from you.
“Of course not,” you mused as your hands fell to either side of his cheeks, lifting his head enough to press a kiss to his forehead before letting it fall down to lean on your shoulder again. You turned to Lando with a shrug. “We’ll probably head out now. You joining us?”
“Nah,” Lando waved you off, still somewhat flabbergasted by what he was witnessing. “You think you’ll get him home alright by yourself?”
You snorted. “He’s basically a big baby at this point, I’ve got him.”
“M’not a baby,” Oscar huffed out.
You only grinned in response. “C’mon, baby, let’s go.”
Oscar lifted his head, blinking slowly with a hopeful look on his face. “Cuddles?”
“Cuddles,” you confirmed, waving the Brit goodbye before you made your way towards the exit of the club.
Lando stood there, mouth agape as he stared at your parting figures when Logan found him. The American was grinning from ear to ear, taking a long dreg from his beer bottle.
“It would’ve been less of a mindfuck if he was an alcoholic, right?” Logan commented with a snort.
“I feel…dirty seeing him so touchy,” Lando whispered.
Logan laughed. “Yeah, just be glad you haven’t seen him when he’s high yet.”
Lando’s head snapped around, looking both intrigued and alarmed. “Why? What is he like when he’s high?”
The boy grinned wider.
“LOGAN, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
.
#oscar piastri#formula one#f1#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri one shot#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot
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' treat me tonight '
a/n: this is (debatably) some of the best smut i've ever written but i'm still new to the field ! give ya girl some suggestions if desired.
song : i know we could be so happy baby.
warnings : fluffy smut, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), piv sex (unprotected), both reader and carmen have a bit of a praise kink, brief hairpulling, the "L-word," established relationship, gets a little rough towards the end, back scratching, porn with no real plot. not proofread
word count: 2.6k+
MDNI : i am not responsible for your media consumption.
NSFW under the cut — last warning!
"Try it," Carmen cupped your jaw as he lifted the wooden spoonful of creamy, tomato soup to your mouth, thumbing your bottom lip gently so you could carefully swallow every last bit. He enjoyed feeding you, if he was being totally honest. Even if this had been upon your request. Making his girl happy with what he did best was nothing short of a blessing to him.
"Mmm," you hummed in amusement, swallowing before smiling contently and nodding your head. "'S great, Carmy. Fuckin' delicious."
Long days at work dealing with insensitive clientele and immature coworkers seemed to be so easily remedied by Carmen's cooking. You weren't sure if it was because it was him catering to you and loving you the one way he always knew how, or if the food was just that fucking amazing. Maybe a little bit if both.
"Yeah? Alright," he chuckled a bit, grabbing the ladle beside the pot and scooping the simple, yet beautifully crafted tomato soup into a ceramic bowl. He seemed to know exactly how you liked it, despite him asking you if you enjoyed it every. single. time.
You accepted the bowl with a sickly sweet smile on your face, giving Carmen a kiss on his clean shaven cheek to thank him for his gesture before hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen counter. Carmen just stood with his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against the dining table, candidly watching you enjoy the warm bowl of soup
"So," you slurped some of the soup as you paused, "I'm thinkin' of giving Syd that top we found the other day."
Thrifting had become of recent liking to you anD Carmen. Just shopping and mooching around Chicago in search of vintage pieces. Mostly to actually wear, but partly to collect or regift to fellow friends. Last time you two had a day off, you found a beautiful vintage button down. A white base with downward blue stripes with a finely stitched breast pocket containing a 'V' pattern. The cuffs were cinched perfectly. It was a little baggy, too, which you knew Sydney would love.
"Ooh, yeah. I, uh, I really liked that. I think she'd really love it," Carmen nodded, "You gonna get 'er somethin' else with it? Like, to pair with it? Or just the shirt?"
"I was gonna ask you to help me with that, actually," you pointed a finger to Carmen, turning away for just a moment to gently place the empty bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink.
Carmen always thought you had a good eye for other people's tastes. Not just in fashion. The world seemed unpredictable to Carmy. But you made it look so easy, so loving to just know what people wanted. He always wished he had that kind of understanding for people. But for now, he'd admire such a trait you had.
"Hm?"
"I remember she mentioned something about having all these cool tops n' jackets and such, but, like—hardly any nice pants other than those fuckin' jeans she loves."
"Mhm," he stepped closer to you and planted his hands on your shoulders. But you soon reached for them and planted them on your hips, earning a little upward curl of his lip.
"I know you loved those nice jeans like they were your babies 'till you had to sell them," you frowned, entangling your fingers in his messy, blonde curls while your other hand rested on the back of his neck.
"Fuck, I know. Really wish I didn't have to," he tried to let out a breathy laugh to compensate for the genuine disappointment.
Fuck, did he love those pants. Pants were the one piece of fashion Carmen didn't have to second guess himself on. From jeans to slacks, he knew how to pair every possible fabric. And he never knew how to flatter the upper half of his body, so he always wore those dammed white t-shirts.
Not that you were complaining.
Especially right now, the t-shirt highlighting his broad shoulders and exposing his thick arms plastered with sentimental tattoos you always loved. You began to run your hands up and down the exposed skin. He glanced down at your patterned touch, flattered.
"Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway, I need you to help me look for a nice pair of jeans for Sydney. Can y'do that for me, hun?"
Carmen nodded rapidly, his eyes drifting from your lips and back into your eyes. His thumbs rubbed intricate little circles of adoration into your thighs.
"Yeah, baby," he smiled. "This weekend, maybe? I can take a couple hours," tilting his head, he held your chin to pull your face just inches away from his own. Something about your tendencies to make the ones you loved happy with little surprises just warmed him.
"Mhm. That works," you sighed, planting a soft kiss on his lips before wrapping your arms around his neck.
Carmens immediate suggestion just struck something in you. Months ago, he would've thrown excuse after excuse (although valid) as to when he couldn't be available, but never when he could. You felt proud of him.
"You're so good to me, Carmen."
"Yeah?"
He was learning. He was loving.
"Mhm," you barred your bottom lip behind your teeth, giving Carmen's arms a squeeze. He exhaled sharply and wondered where this could've been going.
You drove him a little crazier than he ever liked to admit. A delicate hand reached away from your hip and up to your face. He thumbed your bottom lip, the reflection of the kitchen light shining against your mouth that was glossy with a mix of both of your salivas. Carmen gazed at you in awe, a little embarrassed when he realized how long he'd been staring.
"I—" he shrugged, struggling to find the words, "I'd do it all for you, baby."
Whispering back as he began to cave in, he leaned into your neck and placing an opened mouth kiss on the skin. The smell of your perfume and the natural scent of your body was so familiar to him. It distracted him enough to let his hands roam up and down your torso before repeating that same motion on your thighs.
"Want you t.." you swallowed, your eyes shutting harshly when when he sucked a bruising hickey onto your skin.
"Want me to what, sweet girl?" Carmen mumbled, the butterflies in your stomach raging when his teeth grazed against the spot. You gently anchored your hand into his hair and pulled him away from your neck so you could see him again.
"Want you to treat me tonight," you whispered as your hands travled up to his shoulders.
He wished you could be more specific. But with your pretty eyes, your kiss-swollen lips, your thighs spread against the cold marble counter as they spilled out of your cotton shorts, how could he tease you any longer?
"That I can do."
—
Carmens body seemed to loosen up and relax as his rough hand slid down lower on your back to grab at the waistband of your shorts. You practically melted to his touch. He kissed you again, smiling against your lips as you giggled into the kiss once he slid your shorts down to your ankles. You nodded when he pulled away, ensuring him that he was on the right track.
"Need you t'spread, baby," his hand pried between your soft thighs.
"O—okay," You bit the inside of your cheek as you slowly spread your legs apart. The wet spot of arousal in the middle of your panties was completely in view now. Feeling Carmen's eyes drifting downward, you accidentally drew your knees closer together again.
"Hey," Carmen whispered while he looked into your eyes for an answer, despite your gaze being glued to the floor.
"You okay? We don't have to do thi—"
"No, no," you shook your head, "I want to. Just..not used to it. That's all."
It was true. You'd only tried oral about twice. And it went great, you couldn't deny. But you still struggled to literally open yourself up to him. You just needed a little encouragement.
"You don't have to hide, baby. You look—you are beautiful," he kissed your forehead, "so, so beautiful. Okay?"
Finally feeling some reassurance, you tried again. You spread your legs once again and let Carmen peel your soaked panties down your legs to where your shorts had been. He gave you one last look to see if you were ready, to which you happily nodded.
In the sweetest gesture, Carmen removed his own t-shirt so you wouldn't be alone. He unbuttoned his jeans and tossed them somewhere near the dining table, being left in just his boxers that outlined his slowly hardening cock.
"Thank you," you chuckled.
"Of course."
Carmen began trailing kisses from your neck down to your shoulder blade. His hands gently lifted your tank top over your head before cupping one of your breasts, his fingertips playing with your hard nipple as he kissed you one last time. He sank down to his knees, hooking your calves over his shoulders. You scooted a little closer to the edge of the counter to give him the best access to your throbbing cunt.
"Yep. Right here, baby."
He had you exactly where he wanted you.
You finally looked down at him after avoiding direct eye contact for the past few minutes. His blue eyes fully encapsulated you. He looked gorgeous between your thighs. Especially when he sucked little hickeys that wouldn't actually last against your inner thighs that made you squirm.
"You look pretty like this, bear," your hand reached to brush a loose curl out of his face. The flush that colored his pale cheeks was cute.
"You think so?" Carmen grinned. He relished in the feeling of having such gentle yet everlasting control. In his own kitchen, his beautiful girl in his hands, her thighs around his head, fully willing and wanting to let him take every part of her he could ever imagine.
You were nothing short of perfect to him.
Not wanting to waste any more time, and without preamble, he licked a bold stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. Your breath hitched in your throat when his grip on your thighs tightened. He started to create a sense of rhythm, roughly sucking on the sensitive mound of nerve endings before soothing it with kitten licks and flat-tongued strides.
Your hand tugged at a handful of his curls. He groaned at the sensation, swirling his tongue around you to feel every fucking inch of your pussy.
"Fuck, Carmy..."
"You got the prettiest pussy, baby. So good and wet for me," he mumbled against you, his eyes still remaining closed. He needed to focus, or else he might fall apart at the sight of pure, filthy pleasure on your pretty face.
"Shut up—" you protested.
Your thighs began to shake as your head reeled back. Carmen hesitated for a moment, wiggling his fingers around anxiously before pulling his mouth away from your vulva and ever so carefully slipping in 2 large fingers.
A long, drawn out moan escaped your mouth the moment he curled his fingers upward into your g-spot. The idea of staying quiet was out of the fucking question. Oh, and now that Carmen's tongue was back on you? Forget it.
"Oh my fucking g—fuck!" you smacked your hand over your mouth, your other hand still entangled in your lovers hair. Pulling and tugging and earning the sexiest groans you'd ever heard in your life.
The sound of your voice slowly raising in pitch was enough for Carmen to change his pace. He inched himself even closer, and at an otherworldly speed flicked his tongue repeatedly against your clit. Over. And over. And over again. But his fingers slowed down to avoid overstimulating you. He needed this to last. Blissfully.
The knot in your stomach that indicated your teeter against your orgasm taunted you.
"Carm, I'm—" you took a short breath moaning incohereant babbles along the lines of 'so fuckin' good, just like that, baby' until you blurted, "I'm probably not gonna last any longer..'S too much."
You'd grown so desperate to cum that your hips ground back and forth, the tip of Carmens tongue perfectly brushing against your sensitive clit while he used the hand that was once fucking you to squeeze the fat of your breast. With his other hand, he reached down to palm his throbbing cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. He pulled his erection out from the cloth and stroked himself slowly, the final moan of "fuck," shortly followed by your name before he harshly sucked on your clit once more, was enough to throw you over the edge.
"Oh, fuck, Carmy!"
After the last couple minutes of him practically making out with your pussy, your body finally allowed itself to release, your legs shaking vigourisly as you tried desparately to catch your breath. You could literally feel a pulse-like sensation on your clit from the orgasm.
It was dirty, filthy; cumming on Carmen's pretty face right on top of his kitchen counter.
But fuck, was it hot.
—
"You think you got another one left in there for me, baby?" Carmen cooed, wrapping your legs around his hips and drawing you in so close that your breasts were pressed against his bare chest. He peppered kisses along your jaw until he resided on your lips, his tongue slipping in to create a sloppy, passionate mess of a kiss.
His clothed hard-on pressed against your clit, which was nearly fully recovered, lacking the overwhelming sensitivity it had just a couple minutes ago.
"Maybe you should find out," you teased against his ear, nipping at the skin of his neck right underneath. You gently pressed your hand against his chest, backing him up just the slightest bit so you could slip his pre-cum soaked boxers with ease.
Without another thought, Carmen carefully lined himself up with your pussy. The head of his dick passed between your folds to build anticipation. Your hands gripped his shoulders, slippery with sweat, once he finally began to push his raw cock into your hole, your arousal serving as a perfect lubricant.
"Fuck," he rasped as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy in awe "so fuckin' tight for me. So pretty n' perfect."
The two of you hardly waited to allow every thrust and slap of skin against skin get messy and rough. With Carmen desperately needing to cum and you anxiously needing to feel him inside of you, there wasn't much consideration for a slow fuck.
"Fuck me, Carmen."
With that, Carmen dug his hands into your hips and pulled several inches out of you before slamming back in. You somehow moaned louder every time. His face contorted to pure, ravenous pleasure and lust as moan and groan after groan writhed from his throat. Your nails clawed at his back, earning a "shit," and his teeth sinking into your shoulder as you ground back and forth against him to achieve the perfect thrusting angle.
"I love you," he whimpered, fucking whimpered his adoration for you. He was completely pussy drunk, his thrusts turning fast and short unlike they were when they started out.
Those words made your heart pound in your head. Sure, you'd exchanged 'I love you's' during the last year or so of your relationship, but you couldn't recall a time it was said during rough-kitchen-counter-sex.
"I love you so fuckin' much, Carm," you sobbed in a fit of utter horniness and overwhelming sense of pleasure, feeling Carmen's thick cock and squeezing your warm, gummy walls around him.
"I'm gonna cum, angel, I—"
"I know, baby. Go ahead. W-want you to fill me up."
Almost as if the universe had been working specifically in your favor, you managed to reach your orgasm just seconds before he did. Every drop of your arousal went down his thigh, while his cum perfectly filled up your cunt. He pulled out slowly watching the white and sticky semen drip down your hole.
"Was that your idea of me 'treating you' tonight?"
#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto smut#the bear smut#jeremy allen white#ugh i love him#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x reader smut#the bear x reader#i actually love how this turned out
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blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so
Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.
Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.
Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.
Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go.
Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe.
Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.
Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling.
Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo.
It was the proverbial straw.
“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”
Nothing.
“HEY!”
He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead.
Silence rang for a beat.
Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range.
The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Geez, need attention much?”
Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?”
Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.”
It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
But, see. That just gave him an idea.
Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all.
“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,”
He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude.
“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly.
“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”
It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up.
“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified.
“Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here?”
The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.
“You tired?”
“Uh, no. I’m fine--”
“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm.
There was a countdown, three, two, one...
A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs.
“Dude, what the hell?”
“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”
“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?”
Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth.
“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?”
Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.
God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking.
Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.”
Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move.
“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,”
Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them.
“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”
“Dude, Eddie, noooo!”
“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.”
“You guys, let’s just go already,”
“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,”
The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together.
It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.
What can he say? He’s a weak man.
“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in.
“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.”
A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that.
The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!”
The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly.
#Listen this is cheesy and poorly written but i HAD to#go find that tik tok because it was hilarious but also radiated love and healthy parenting#they called it 'gentle parenting with malicious intent' looooool#steddie#the party#my brain vomit
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